


based on a true story: the sweet escape

by Brookz



Category: Shefani, The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: AU, F/M, Falling In Love, Original Character(s), Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brookz/pseuds/Brookz
Summary: He’s an author, she’s a mystery and his pen is itching to write her.
Relationships: Blake Shelton/Gwen Stefani
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	based on a true story: the sweet escape

There’s a monotony in waking up each morning and staring helplessly at a blank document, dodging the calls of his publisher. The routine is starting to become a killer, slowly spreading like a toxin through his system. Simultaneously sucking the life from him and driving him insane.

Mapel, though young, seems to already understand his tormented brain. She walked up to him with a soft smile tugging on her lips, her arms wrapped around his neck from behind.

“Are you done working, daddy?”, his daughter asked one afternoon, as he closed his laptop. “Grammy says it’s not good for you look at a screen for too long, says your eyes could fall out. Is that true?”

He chuckles lowly, and made a mental check note in his brain to tell his mom she can’t go around spooking his 7-year old daughter like that.

“No, honey. Gram is just being funny”, he said. “She’s just not very good at it.”

His daughter grinned.

The sight is one to behold. It made him forget about the grim mood he’d been in ever since finishing his last book. A dark tale about his own life, only hidden behind different and anonymous characters. It’s hard to come back with another book after that. 

How do you write anything after writing your tragic life story? A most draining experience and most passionate one, too.

He misses the thrill of writing his own experience, the excitement of having the words crowding in his head, pouring from his fingertips to the keys. Inspiration.

“Grammy has left-over breakfast”, she informs him as if she’s in a hurry. “She’s taking me for a walk in the woods. We might see hogs and reindeer.”

Blake understood her hurry then. 

“Not reindeer, baby. _Elks_. And they mostly come out during the evening time. But I’ll be there in a second to finish her delicious pancakes.”

“And the reindeer?”

Blake chuckled at her stubbornness.

“We’re eating those too?”

Mapel gasps, horrified. “ _What_?”

He smirked before pulling her into him. He hopes that between his mother and himself, they don’t traumatize Mapel too badly with their crude sense of humour.

“Kidding, sweetheart. Go inside, daddy will be right there.”

The excitement over seeing some animals was enough to get her running inside. Blake closed his eyes for a moment before joining them back in the house. The look on his face had been enough for his mother. She’d been tired of her son’s moping around and that day had been the final push.

She’d told him specifically, “pick a place, your favorite pen and notebook, your laptop, and go write for two weeks straight. Uninterrupted.”

He had agreed, even with his worry about Mapel seeing it as abandoning. There was enough of that feeling installed in her after what happened to her mother. He could not bear to add to that.

But now he finds himself in Monterey, hoping to take a page from Hemingway’s book and find some inspiration amongst the wildlife. Then again, judging by how things came to an end for the former author, he might not want to follow _too_ closely in the unsettled man’s footsteps, down the descent into madness.

He had rented a modernized cabin, though --couldn’t go too far out of his element—in a secluded part of the woods, were chances of running into anyone were slim to none. He had no neighbours, only one other home in the distance that he could see through the mass of brush and trees. In the night, when that house had its lights on, he could see it spilling golden through the maze of evergreen.

Monterey reminds him of home away from home, but much different from California where he currently resides. He finds it hard to believe this small piece of heaven is part of the big and flashy state. The wilderness is foreign to most of them, the silence unnerving in the best way. Getting to roam the woods and ocean if he’s willing to walk a few miles, is exactly what he needs.

His arrival here offers him a peace he hasn’t felt in years, a balm to the unbearable tension of the last few years. His mother could’ve been right, this could be exactly what he needs to emerge from his endless writing slump.

\--

Awakening the second morning to the chirp of birds compared to the cacophony of city life he’s used to now, is both pleasant and strange. He calls his mom and talks to Mapel for a few minutes, knowing his cell signal outside of the cabin is limited. He’s heading out of his temporary home into the sunlight that breaches the ceiling of the forest, the beach his destination. He brings along his notebook and pen just in case, but doesn’t expect to use them. He snaps some pictures with his phone of the hike through the woods for Mapel, capturing the beauty of the rustic scenery.

Once he reaches the nearest beach through his hike, trekking through a trail that leads to the ocean, he catches sight of a woman near the waves, not walking along the oceanside. She’s the only one there and he’s surprised to even see a single soul. This part of the beach is completely unobtainable for tourists. His brain stops trying to think why or how she can be here as he just stares at the woman standing sentinel in the sand.

The sun caresses her golden skin, the water licking at her ankles and her hair long and loose. It flows slightly in the breeze with the sheer fabric of her transparent kimono clinging to her arms.

He almost extracts his pen and notebook at the sight.

It’s been less than two days, but Blake likes people and is used to constantly being surrounded. The hum of activity is not always appreciated, but it’s always there. It causes him to approach the lone figure on the empty beach, the sand silencing his footsteps. Her shoulders tense once he’s only a few steps away, her head jerking over the curve of her bone to find him there.

With the bone structure of a model, her features sharp and striking and eyes that swirl fierce and feral with hazel colours that enchant him, his mind is immediately sorting through paragraphs about this goddess of the sea.

The liquid hazel of her eyes scrutinize him as she takes a step back, not taking so well to his awestruck inspection of her.

“Sorry to startle you”, he apologizes before she can think to hit him or something, or run away, or _both_. “I just saw you standing here on the beach and I thought I’d introduce myself. Are you staying in any of the cabins nearby?”

The woman stares at him as if he’s speaking another language and the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. She might not even speak English; she could be an actual tourist. Judging solely by her outer appearance, she could definitely be European, she carries that enticing exotic look just enough, and now he thinks he might’ve made things terribly uncomfortable and awkward.

“I’m sorry”, he says again, slower and enunciating his words a bit. “Can you even understand what I’m saying?”

Her lips curve up the small of an inch, her arms crossing over her chest.

“I’m not stupid or a _child_ ”, she speaks calmly, gazing back at him. He realizes that his presence here must be equally as surprising for her as hers is to him. “I understood you just fine.”

Blake grins and extends his hand, her gaze merely flicking down to the offered palm with an arched eyebrow. He’s about to pull it back when she finally takes his hand and shakes it.

“I’m Blake”, he adds, her tentative fingers sending sparks up his arm and electricity through his veins.

The nameless woman must feel it too, because she pulls away and jerks her hand back as if he’s seared her sunkissed skin.

“Gwen”, she mutters simply.

“I’m here to write”, he explains, his mind still on the lingering static sizzling beneath the palm of his hand, the whorls of his fingertips. “Write a book, to be exact.”

She nods, taking in his words but her eyes remain dark and spooked.

“I have to go”, she announces, turning on her bare heel and trudging up the beach, towards a path that will lead back into the nearby walking trail, snagging her shoes before she disappears.

He stares after her for a few moments and then plops down to the sand once she’s gone. He opens his notepad on his bent knees and uncaps his pen.

He came here for inspiration and he may have just found it.

“By the way”, her voice surprises him as he looks up. She comes back strutting over to him, determined but looking confused herself. As if she can’t believe she’s coming back. He sure can’t. “People like their solitude here. Most of them own guns. You don’t want to sneak up on them like you did with me.”  
  
He scrambles back to his feet, grinning.

“Are you talking from experience?”

She slips her fingers through her hair before flicking it behind her shoulders.

“It’s just a warning”, she responds coyly. “Take it or leave it.”

He watches her getting ready to walk away from him again and the pen in his hand itches, the feeling in his chest reminding him of the one he got while working on his previous book.

It’s clear to him. He needs her. He’s not sure how or in what capacity yet, but he needs her to write.

“What?” She stares at him, “I can tell you’re thinking about something and I don’t trust you enough to not ask about what _that_ is.”

“Fair”, he responds, inhaling deeply, “I haven’t produced any new material in a while and I came here thinking that maybe a change of environment would help. I didn’t really expect anything to come out of it until now.”

He takes in her sceptical features and this time he doesn’t blame her. He knows he’s sounding absolutely crazy right now. He doesn’t know the first thing about this woman, but he knows that changing that, would make for an insane book.

“You saw me standing on the beach and talked to me for a few seconds…” she summarizes, “how does that change anything?”

He shrugs. He’s not sure how to explain it to himself, let alone to her, but if it can aid in changing her mind, he will try. 

“I don’t know. You make me want to learn your story, you make me want to _write_ it.”

“There is no story”, she mutters in shock.

“There’s always a story”, he counters, but she shakes her head quickly. He hums. “There’s always a chain of events that have led us here.”

“You can’t have mine”, she replies quickly, her words sharp despite their whispered descent.

“Think about it”, he says, earning a frown and a sigh as he meets her eyes. There’s something light and tentative glimmering in hers, battling with the darkness that seems to inhabit her from the inside out, too.

“So, you’re just cooped up in a cabin writing all day?”, she asks, unable to hide her intrigue.

She’s already in too deep and he’s gotta have her story now. He _will_ have it. But she doesn’t need to know that just yet.

“No, I’m here on the beach talking to you.”

Gwen scoffs, but the curve of her lips is undeniable.

“What would you even write about?”, she whispers.

He realizes she’s asking about her role in his book and his heart is hammering so loudly he thinks she might hear it. This is happening.

“I would write about a woman who got lost”, he begins, paying attention to her body language, gauging how far he can push her before she shuts him out completely. “A smart, good looking woman who’s running from her life, her past, maybe even her future? She has lost…a lot and she’s feeling defined by it.

He’s drawn to the untamed look in her eyes and the mystery wrapping around her like a cloak. He wants to solve her. He already knows no one comes to a place like this if they’re not hiding from or hoping to find something.

“You think you know all that just by meeting me for five minutes?”

“Consider it a character study.”

“I’m not a character”, she counters agitatedly, ready to walk away.

He gently grabs her wrist, just enough to keep her from walking and then releases her immediately.

“You’re not. You’re just…inspiring”, he admits, “I’m asking you this once and if you say no, that’s it. No hard feelings, no harassing. I just need to know if there’s a chance…”

She stares up at him like she’s drowning, helpless and angry and confused, but _so_ intrigued she can hardly stand it.

She grinds out a question. “What do you want from me?”

“Answers”, he forces out, deciding to lay it all out there quickly and clearly, “I want some time to get to know you, pick your brain and write your story. If nothing comes out of it, so be it. if something does, you’ll be well compensated, you can trust me on that.”

She blinks, her eyes darting from his eyes to his mouth before sighing.

“I think I should go”, she murmurs without looking up again. He wants to push or argue her decision but he promised her he wouldn’t and he’s a man of his word.

“Of course.”

He expects her to walk away immediately, another form of denial and swift rejection, but he is met with another sigh instead.

“My house is the only non-cabin in sight here, you might’ve seen it already.”

The house with the lights. The one that sends golden rues through the trees at night. Of course that’s her.

“I think I have”, Blake says, “looks gorgeous.”

”Tomorrow….” She breathes, “you could come by then. We can talk about your…proposal.”

“Really?”, he grins, his mind spinning.

“Really”, she confirms, beginning to widen the distance between them, “but don’t get your hopes up just yet. I’m just hearing you out, this is not me agreeing to anything.”

Blake nods. “Absolutely. Thank you, Gwen.”

She walks away and disappears into the woods for real this time. His eyes dart to the pen in his hand and the notebook lying in the sand.

He can’t quite explain it, but he knows it’s true. This chance encounter is about to change his career.


End file.
